Twenty-four Days Page 23

  The rumble of the engines grew louder and the vibration under her feet stronger. The current had strengthened. “Conn. Slow a knot.”

  “Aye, ma’am.”

  Paloma felt alert, every sense on edge. In her time on this cruiser, they had deployed three times. Once, Bunker Hill served as a carrier escort through the Panama Canal, across the equator and around the tip of South America. Another time, they trained with the Mexican Navy off Baja California. Supervising a missile launch in the Sea of Japan would be mundane if not for Virginia stalking the seas as foe rather than friend. This time, Paloma’s training might be tested.

  "Bridge, combat. We have a surface contact. EW reports commercial radar."

  Paloma responded, "AIS data confirms it as a commercial vessel en route to Beijing.”

  The contact was cleared.

  When the watch change arrived, Paloma handed off command and went to the wardroom to eat. As she munched through a chicken salad, her mind drifted to Eitan. That last morning, as they said goodbye, he had given her a timepiece he said doubled as a satellite phone. It had his private line on speed dial and he insisted she call about any odd occurrence. Paloma felt an unreasonable pang of jealousy for Sean with friends who believed in him, cared for his welfare, and dropped everything to protect him.

  She finished dinner as her comm buzzed. “Ma’am. GM2. We may have a problem with the small arms assessment.”

  In preparation for arrival in the Sea of Japan, Paloma ordered an inventory of the ship’s weapons—M-16’s, shotguns, and 9mms—available to repel borders should the need arise. Half at a time would be taken from the armory to the Helo Hanger for inspection. That ensured at any given time, weapons were accessible.

  “The entire complement is in the Helo Hanger.”

  “Which means three bad guys can take over Bunker Hill simply by locking down the Helo Hanger and its three egress points—the aviation workshop entrance, the hatch from the flight deck and the one to the ship’s interior.” Paloma’s temper skyrocketed, but she kept her voice calm. “Be right there.”

  She hurried to the Helo Hanger. “GMC,” GM2’s chief, “what’s the status?”

  “Going well, ma’am,” he replied dismissively.

  She bristled, but kept her face neutral. “Have you finished the first half?”

  “XO was here.” When she didn’t leave, he continued, voice curt, “I gave him the status update, Ma’am.”

  “Does he know it’s not per regulations?” She turned to a Senior Chief standing at the GMC’s side. “Senior Chief. You have something to add?”

  The man coughed, eyes darting from her to GMC and back. “I’ll fix it, ma’am,” and he fled, GMC right behind. Clearly, they considered this tasking inconsequential. Thanks to Eitan, she didn’t.

  She went to the gym and ran on the treadmill at a slant that changed when the ship rocked. Two miles into it, legs already burning, she got a call for a CASREP which required immediate attention. It saved her from quitting in exhaustion.

  Twenty minutes later, one more signature to collect, she found a typo.

  "Damn!" she said under her breath. As she stood there, wondering if it would go through, she heard a voice around the corner.

  "I already told you. ...No, that’s impossible. ...Don't ask me to do that... Promise no one will get hurt... Yeah, those’re the coordinates... Wednesday, early."

  Paloma stood silently until XO’s steps disappeared. To whom would he reveal confidential information about the ship's position and time of arrival? He was annoying, but not a traitor. He must have been talking to someone with the need to know.

  Saturday, August 19th, night

  UCSD Hospital

  For the first time since his wife’s departure, Sun couldn’t concentrate so he toddled down to the hospital cafeteria. He hoped to find squash or mashed potatoes, settled on Fritos, and then plopped into a booth as his mind wandered.

  He liked Paloma. That was the problem. He chewed through the first bag of chips and guzzled lemonade, trying to drown out the odd taste of emotion. What if she didn't share his feelings? She kissed him, but was that gratitude? Zeke would know. And what if his sentiments for Paloma compromised his ability as an intelligence officer? He missed a significant event this afternoon—3,269,950,049 dots on his screen. If he overlooked a prime number, what else did he fail to see?

  No wonder Zeke had such problems with Kali.

  He slugged two antacids with a pint of milk, stuffed the last of the Fritos into his mouth and went to the restroom. There, he rubbed a soapy paper towel across his underarms and another over his face. He couldn’t do anything about yesterday's clothes, but if the nurses noticed, he could make a geek-speak comment to make them giggle.

  As he dried himself, the number of the sat phone he gave Paloma buzzed. "Paloma! Is everything OK?"

  "Just wanted to say hi. Hey, this sat phone is neat."

  She sounded happy. Sun sighed. They chatted about life at sea, the crew, the tedium. She seemed excited to talk to him which made him feel complete, like a plant that's been watered. After an animated description of a boring watch, she fell silent. Was he supposed to say something? How did phone calls work between men and women? The silence boomed.

  Finally, he blurted out, "Everyone in the intelligence community believes something will happen over there. Please be careful, Paloma. This is more dangerous than it appears." Then as casually as possible, he asked, "How's Taggert doing?

  She remained silent. He wanted to prod, but waited as he walked back to Sean's room.

  "Yeah, well, you know, XO is away from his girlfriend." She tried to sound chipper, but failed to carry it off. Sun decided to prod.

  "Anything else?"

  And it all tumbled out. It boiled down to one point: Who couldn’t Taggert talk to on the ship’s secure communications? Sun told her again not to trust Taggert. Best case, he was stupid, worst case a traitor.

  "If the ship is attacked and you can’t tell from where, check these coordinates," and he gave her the numbers he had sworn on his Top Secret clearance to share with no one.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Day Fourteen, Sunday, August 20th, early morning

  Englewood, New Jersey, Zeke's house

  The shrill burr of the alarm dragged Rowe to consciousness. He groaned. Two hours sleep wasn’t enough.

  Rowe and James had spent all Saturday trying to track Virginia’s elusive trail. Otto’s ‘torpedo’ turned out to be more bodies, also identified as crew members. Rowe and James agreed to start fresh in the morning.

  Today, Kali and Sean were coming home. He skipped a shower but brushed his teeth, dressed in work clothes, and jumped in his car.

  He called Duck as he headed for James’s office. "Anything going on?"

  "Eitan and I packed up Sean's apartment. That fish, damn odd fellow." Duck paused. "No way would Mohammed know as much as he does about Bunker Hill without a mole. Taggert spends money like a drunken sailor, drools over a flashy girlfriend, and has the clearances.”

  He ended by telling Rowe what Paloma told Sun and signed off.

  Rowe found a handicap slot, passed Tess with a wave, and plopped down in front of a sleeping James. The agent jerked awake, arched an eyebrow, and added the hand movements of pouring coffee. Rowe called Kali.

  "Hey, lots of excitement last night. Everything OK?"

  "Sean woke up.” Her tone was excited but brusque. “We land at 11 pm. Duck’s making the arrangements.” Her voice cracked and she sniffled. He wanted to hold her, brush away the danger, and protect her from the evil. She blew her nose, “The doctor’s here. See you soon.”

  Rowe felt like someone had put him in a wood chipper and turned it on. If Kali was his blind spot as James said, he needed to learn Braille.

  After he finished this.

  If she would have him.

  Sunday, August 20th, night

  Somewhere over the US

  Kali managed to get loose pants and a baggy t-shir
t onto Sean's frail body and sandals on his flaccid feet. She and Duck dragged him onto the plane, wrapped a blanket around him, and got a pillow under his head moments before he fell asleep. That left her with the drone of jet engines and the clatter of Eitan pecking away on his computer. He had been worried ever since talking to Paloma so Kali left him alone. She tried to read, but gave up after three pages.

  A few rows back sat Duck, arm in a sling, flight attendant fluffing his pillow as he grinned ear to ear. He had a book on his tray table, pretending to read as he studied the passengers. This weekend brought perspective to her life, in no small part thanks to Duck. One moment, she wanted to strike out at anyone who attacked her son. The next, she wanted to hide where she and Sean would never be discovered. Duck said that was why he never married. What right did he have to put himself in danger when someone depended upon him?

  "Hey, Eitan."

  His head bobbed up and swiveled toward her, eyes soft and dreamy, glasses smudged, fingers never stopping their clackity-clack. "Hey."

  "What’re you working on?"

  "P— Sean's problems."

  Kali hoped Paloma was as smitten as Eitan. She brushed her fingers through Sean’s freshly-washed hair, caressed his face one more time, and then fell asleep dreaming all this was over.

  Four hours later, they popped out of the climate controlled terminal into the slam of August in New York. Even eleven at night, the air remained thick and swollen.

  "Over here!" Rowe waved, two cars back along the Arrival Gate curb, handicap card on the dash, a silly grin on his face. She must be a sight in yoga pants, tube top, and sling sandals, but he looked wonderful. Same Marine green khakis, crew neck t-shirt, and sunglasses he always wore, but tonight, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His face, though tired and stressed, fed her starving soul. She shucked her luggage over a shoulder and looped Sean’s duffel around her neck. Eitan lumbered along behind her, one arm around Sean’s waist, carry-on in the other hand and laptop across his back. Bringing up the rear—somewhere—was Duck.

  "Zeke." Her throat ached and her eyes stung. She placed both hands on the sides of his face and kissed his lips.

  "Everyone in. Duck’ll meet us there. As requested, Otto awaits you."

  Kali slipped into the back seat with Sean, Eitan in front. Rowe asked about Paloma which made Eitan blush, how they liked California, and whether they saw any movie stars. Kali waited for him to bring up Penbury or Virginia or terrorists. Finally, she did.

  "How can I help, Zeke? Give me something or I’ll find my own stuff. I'm all Sean has. I can’t—won’t—let them hurt him."

  Eitan started strumming his arm like a keyboard.

  Zeke answered with a sigh. “Break Penbury’s damn sonar shield.”

  “Already started. Bobby called about that yesterday. What else?”

  Zeke tightened his hands on the wheel. “Find the connection between Al-alah, North Korea, and someone named Gil-dong."

  The car fell silent as they zagged over to Amsterdam and turned onto Kali’s street. Rowe walked in with Kali and Sean while Eitan stayed with the car. "Can I bring you dinner?"

  “No. I’ll find something after I get Sean settled.”

  As Rowe walked away, she whispered, “I love you.” His step stuttered, but he kept moving. When he was gone, she shut the door and let hot tears roll down her cheeks.

  "Mom. Can you help me?" She wiped her nose on the back of her forearm and rushed to Sean’s room. There she found a massive fish tank filling the far wall of the room.

  "Would you feed Itui? His food’s in my duffle.” The boy struggled to keep his eyes open.

  Kali dug through Sean’s carry-on until she found a plastic container with gunky brown stuff. She took a pinch and sprinkled it into the tank.

  "Thanks, Mom. I love you,” and he fell asleep to the rhythmic, serene swish of the eel cycling through the six-foot tank.

  The peace was interrupted by a scratch and a whimper.

  “Sandy!” She yanked the back door open and was assaulted by muddy paws and a furry domed head. “Hey, boy.” He covered her face with his warm tongue.

  "There you are, Kitten. No surprise our boy here knew you were home.” Mr. Winters grinned while Sandy snorted happily. “Sorry about the mud. We were gardening."

  "Why are you up so late, Mr. Winters?" She asked while brushing dirt from her blouse and Sandy’s paws. The Labrador broke free and sprinted inside. The next thing Kali heard was the vigorous lapping of water from the toilet bowl.

  "Waitin' on you, Kitten. Everything OK? Glad you're back," and he gave a blow by blow of Sandy's adventures. After a few minutes, the dog charged outside wagging his tail, one of Sean's shoes in his mouth. He shook it enthusiastically and collapsed at Kali's feet, shoe between his paws, licking the inside.

  Which made Kali think of Sean. "I better go, Mr. Winters. Thanks. You're a wonder."

  She filled Sandy’s water bowl, then wiped up his muddy paw prints. Done finally, she poured a Crystal Lite and rested.

  But only for a moment. "Sandy. You stay with Sean while I check my test." The dog padded happily away, but got lost halfway there, flopped down, eyes at half-mast, and fell asleep. Kali booted up her laptop and read the Team’s report.

  “Damn.”

  Penbury believed neither the Royal Navy nor the US Navy rigorously tested the sonar-shielding paint before using it so no one knew if or for how long it would work. The ‘if’ had been proven, so Kali tasked her team to determine the pace of the paint’s degradation which would tell her when the sub would appear on sonar.

  To do this, a miniature Virginia was placed in an adapted wind tunnel that perfectly replicated the sub’s ocean environ including temperature, salinity, and pressure relative to depth. Changes in the paint were recorded.

  Kali logged onto the Team’s intranet and checked the data feed. Best estimate so far was the sonar shield would hold for up to six months. Her stomach tightened. No submarine paint lasted six months. What had she done wrong?

  “Of course.” The replica sub did what subs rarely do in the real world: It stood still. It needed to move through the water AND the water move past it. She uploaded the new script.

  Now to find the connection between Al-alah, North Korea and someone named Gil-dong. She added that task to the Team’s To Do list, and went to work.

  “Otto—”

  “Good evening, Kali. Everything went well in California?”

  “Yes, Otto.”

  “I was worried about you.” Otto tilted his round head up. “What can I do to help?”

  “Let’s throw a big net around these three terms, see if we can find the connection.”

  Without another word, Otto contacted his legion of zombie computers, much like the SETI Institute’s massive network of personal computers that searched for extra-terrestrial life.

  “Access all internet-accessible databases.” This included libraries, emails, chatrooms, forums, newsgroups, phones, ATMs, surveillance cams, webcams, GPS, traffic cameras, WiFi, even OnStar buttons most people thought secure. Thanks to James, it also included TS/SAP government networks that collected SIGINT, ELINT, and everything INT.

  Even with Otto’s substantial computing power, this would take a while. James had stocked no food Sean would consider edible, so she put a light sweater on, locked the door, verified the security link to Eitan’s lab—although she didn’t expect a problem at two in the morning—and went shopping. The night air felt warm, but no longer stifling. She inhaled the clutter of humanity, the stench of too many cars, and the distant whiff of the Hudson—nothing like the palm trees and ocean and suntan lotion of California. She loved being back.

  She took her time wandering the aisles, picking foods that would excite her nerdy son. When she checked out, the clerk took her money without a word and went back to a book stuffed under the counter. She got halfway home when her phone rang. "Eitan! You alright—"

  "The electricity went off in your apartment. Probably
nothing, but I called the police."

  Her phone beeped. "Mr. Winters is calling. Maybe his is off too." She switched calls. "Hello—"

  "Our Sandy was barking like crazy a few minutes ago, then nothing. I pounded on the door. I think I hear him whining."

  "I'm on my way home, Mr. Winters. Hey, is your electricity off?"

  "No," Mr. Winters sounded puzzled. "Should I check yours?"

  "No—but thanks."

  By now, Kali was running, her sandals slapping on the sidewalk, groceries bobbing in her arms. The bread bounced out, but she didn’t care. By the time she reached her building, and then her apartment, she was sprinting. Her door stood open so she flew inside and slammed into a policeman, gun drawn.

  "Ma'am—stay away! Someone ran out your back door. My partner is chasing him."

  She wriggled past. "Sean! Where are you?"

  A low groan came from down the hall. She dropped her groceries, ignored a splat, and ran to his room. There he lay, mumbling in his sleep. She pulled to a halt, heart beating, panting as much from fear as exertion. She patted his smooth forehead. Sixteen and already through too much. When she was sure Sean was OK, she followed a whimper to the hall closet and yanked it open. Sandy sprinted out and headed to Sean's room.

  "Got him!" Mr. Winters grinned, wearing pajamas and slippers, shirt buttoned one-off, holding his cell phone with a shot of a slender man dressed completely in black right down to his gloves. He turned as he fled, showing the lithe body of a runner. A balaclava covered his head so only his eyes showed—dark pools of anger, feral and untamed.

  "Would you send it to me, Mr. Winters?"

  "Sure, kitten. I got your electricity on. This fella must have flipped it off."

  She rubbed the old man’s shoulder. "You OK?"

  "Oh sure.” He grinned. “Back one day and already the police are over." He yawned and shuffled into his apartment. Kali had to hold the phone with both hands to call Eitan.

  "Eitan. Someone broke into my apartment. We're OK. Mr. Winters managed to get a picture.”